The Broken Hands of Time
by XXXEdwardAddictXXX
Summary: Archie Kennedy and Ike McSwain were not supposed to die young. They're saved by a team of Timeline Operators, in order to set things right, but complications arise. The sailor and the cowboy have to rely on each other, in a strange world where reality itself seems to be fraying.
1. Prologue - Jamaica

The guards stared fearfully at the man in the long, black coat, as he strode purposefully through the dark stone corridors of Kingston Royal Prison. Nobody reacted to his odd manner of dressing, or his unnanounced presence. The individual had an unusual authority about him, compelling everyone to stay back and keep silent.

He arrived at the cell he was looking for, in the right-hand corner of the sickbay. It was occupied by two young men, one in the bed, and the other one on a stick-chair next to it. The air was stale and clammy, with the stench of festering blood and other unpleasantries. He pulled a roll of parchment from his deep pocket, and handed it to the guard outside the barred door.

"I'm here for the prisoner."

The man on the chair looked up as he entered. His dishevelled uniform coat gave him away as a Lieutenant of the Royal Navy. A shaggy cloud of dark curls framed his angular, strangely handsome face. Third Lieutenant Hornblower, of the HMS Renown; Recently aquitted of mutiny, he still had a defeated look to him, as he watched over his friend.

Fourth Lieutenant Kennedy was unconscious. His skin was a deathly pale ashen shade, and his long, straw-coloured hair stuck to his face and shoulders, soaked with cold sweat. There couldn't be much blood left in him, after that many days. It was a wonder his heart was still beating at all.

The man in the coat walked over to Lieutenant Hornblower, put his hand gently on the young officer's shoulder. _Do not fear. Do not be angry. I wish you no harm._

"I will have to take him with me now. He doesn't have long."

Lieutenant Hornblower looked up, only now aware that someone else had entered the cell. "Take him where? In the state he's in now, what would be the point? Let him have his final moments in peace, I beg you."

"I'm not here to punish him," the man explained, as he pulled up a small device from his pocket and attached it on Kennedy's chest. "I may be able to help him get well, but as you said, he's not long for this world. It will have to happen right away."

Hornblower's dark eyes betrayed a lot of confusion, sadness and worry, but he kept his voice steady as he talked.

"Lieutenant Kennedy has been convicted of mutiny, and an attempt on a captain's life. Even if you _could_ help him, he will hang as soon as he gets well."

"He will not," said the man, producing a syringe from another pocket, and injecting the contents into the unconscious officer's arm. "I will take him to safety. Nobody will ever know what happened."

"Who are you?" Lieutenant Hornblower inquired. "You must be a physician, of sorts, but I do not understand..."

"I'm a friend," the man cut him off. "That's all you need to know. I'm sorry about this, but I'm afraid you won't be able to remember me, or what really happened to Archie. For a while, you will have to believe that your friend has died, and that it was the guards who took away the body. It will break your heart, but for now it's necessary that it happens that way. One day, I will come back for you, Horatio."


	2. Awakening

The pain was gone. He wasn't in the prison cell in Kingston anymore, that much was certain. Archie supposed he was dead now. But where was he? Not in Hell, because there wasn't enough fire and brimstone, nor gnashing of teeth. Probably not in Heaven, because he'd never heard that it was supposed to be dark and silent, full of strange, thin ropes and boxes with little flickering lights on them. The conclusion would have to be that he was still on Earth... somewhere. That would mean he was going to hang. Jolly great. He regretted nothing.

He became aware that there was someone sitting next to his bed. It wasn't Horatio, like he'd hoped, but rather a stranger he'd never laid eyes on before.

"How are you feeling?" the stranger asked.

"I feel... fine, I suppose," Archie replied, relieved that the black-clad young man spoke English. He'd been in prison in Spain once, for a whole year. Being in a small, bare cell was bad enough, but not being able to communicate with people made it almost unbearable.

"You probably wonder who I am," the stranger said. "My name's William Sparrow. I fix things, let's leave it at that for the moment. You probably also wonder where you are."

"That's correct," Archie confirmed. "I would like to know where I am, and whether I shall hang for mutiny."

"Nah, don't worry about that mutiny," William said cheerfully. "The jury back in Kingston all think you're dead. You've had a little transfer of command, so to speak."

"If you say so," Archie replied, barely daring to hope. "Am I to board a new ship, then?"

"Not necessarily a ship," said William. "But then, you never know with these sorts of missions. As for where you are, well... It's England, but it's not really the England you remember."

"What?" Archie asked, suddenly very worried. He had been a little "prone to panic" in his younger years, and right now he was feeling a little younger again. "Don't tell me that Boney has won?!"

"No, no no," William answered. "Old Boney did a lot of damage, but your side won in the end. That was a long time ago. We're in the year 2015."

 _"What?!"_ Archie blurted, bolting out of the bed. His knees buckled underneath him, and William had to grab his arm to stop him from falling. "But that's not possible! How can I be alive more than 200 years after I was supposed to be dead?"

William helped him over to the window, and drew the curtains back. Archie could see that he was in some large city, filled with tall, rectangular buildings that were all lit up like a fleet of fire-ships. The lights were every colour imaginable. Small, box-like carriages appeared to move on their own through the streets. Looking out at it, he just knew that what William was telling him was the truth, no matter how incredible it sounded.

"This is London," William explained. "Much has happened here since your last visit."

"Why am I here?" Archie asked, struggling to take in the reality of what he had just been told. "What happened to the rest of the crew?"

"You're here because you needed to go away for a while," William said. "They wanted to hang you, after all. We couldn't let that happen, because it wasn't _supposed_ to happen. According to the official timeline of history, you were supposed to live, be a darn good sea captain, and have some descendants who would go on to do great things. Something happened, that caused the past to change. That's something that occurs now and again. Time isn't the abstract, constant thing most people believe it to be. Sometimes, history can change in ways that have serious effects on the future, and that's what people like myself are trying to fix."

Archie sat down on his bed. It was a strange contraption, made from metal tubing. He noticed that he was wearing some sort of shirt, made from a thin fabric with some kind of pattern printed on it.

"This room," he asked, "this house, what is it?"

"It's one of our safe-houses," William replied. "I'm not the only one who works here. There's Henry – our boss, Doc – she fixed you up, Elena – our intern, and myself. This is the hospital wing. You're actually not our only patient at the moment. Henry brought someone in this morning."

"Someone from my time?" Archie asked, hopefully. It would be nice not to be the only "foreigner" there.

"I'm not sure," said William. "He arrived with only a sheet around him – much like you did, and Doc had to get to work on him straight away. I didn't really get a very good look at the boy. He seemed very young, from what I could tell. We'll know more when he wakes up, but that will take a few days."

"How can I be alive?" Archie asked. "I was shot in the ribs, lost most of my blood, and the wound had started to fester. There was no hope."

"We have our tricks," William explained. "The discoveries we've done since your time will surprise you. Doc, she's not even from here. She's from another couple of centuries into the future, but her own timeline destroyed itself, so she can't go home again. When she first arrived, she brought with her some equipment that helps speed up healing. The bullet came out, then she sealed up the holes in your bowel, and we gave you some pretty strong medicine to fight off the infection you had. You've been in and out of consciousness for a good three days, but you seem to be on the mend now."

Archie wasn't all that surprised that women were surgeons in this strange, future world, but it suddenly occurred to him that one of them might have seen him naked. He hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt, and decided to change the conversation to something that was still bothering him.

"My friend Horatio," he asked, "will he be safe?"

"He will be for now," William answered, "and you'll see him again in not so long. We're sending you back home, eventually. There are just some kinks that need ironing out first. I'll tell you more tomorrow. In the mean time, I think you should get some rest. It's pretty late, and I'm the only one on watch tonight. I need to check on the boy."

For some strange reason, Archie just knew that he could trust William. Things would be alright, and he would have quite a story to tell his friends when he got back home. He got back into the metal bed, which was actually quite comfortable compared to the hard bunks he was used to, and pulled the blanket over himself. Soon he was asleep, dreaming of being aloft on a great ship, as it sailed between distant, green islands.


	3. The other patient

William woke him up the next morning, bringing breakfast and some weird future clothes.

"I'm afraid this is a bit bland," William said appologetically, "but you haven't eaten in over a week, so it's best to start a bit carefully."

Breakfast was a plate of oatmeal, a cup of plain black tea, and slices of orange. Archie was used to surviving long periodes on stale water and biscuits that were so dry they could substitute for bricks if you were building a wall, so he wasn't going to complain about the menu. In fact, he was very hungry, and it made him happy to see that people in the future didn't eat wood-chip, like Matthews the Bosun always said they would.

After he'd eaten, William showed him to a room where he could take a shower, and then it was time to try on the futuristic get-up. The clothing was fairly simple. It concisted of a pair of trousers made from a stiff, blue material, a plain white shirt that fit a bit snuggly, and a grey jacked that closed with something called a "zipper." While he got dressed, Archie noticed that the wound from removing the bullet was almost healed, already. William brought him some shoes to try on. The pair that fit best was ridiculous looking, with lemon-yellow laces that apparently glowed in the dark, but if that's what people wore, then no one would care.

He met Henry, who was middle aged and had short, grey hair. He reminded Archie of a sober version of Dr. Clive in a way, although he didn't really look that much like him. "Doc" turned out to be a tall, handsome woman, with dark hair and eerily pale skin. Her eyes were a striking green colour he'd never seen on a human before. Maybe in the even more distant future she was from, it was very common. Then Archie remembered that those eyes might have seen him in the nude, and got embarrassed.

He spent the day looking through a huge history book, that had pictures of how the world had changed. Archie had never imagined that it was possible to capture a moment in pictures made with light, and he spent hours looking at them, blown away. William asked if he wanted to hear some music, and brought a flat box that had a window that could show all sorts of things. It was almost like magic. Archie wished Horatio had been there to see it. Future music was apparently very alien, so William had made a list of songs that started out with ones from the 19th century (but they were new recordings), and then progressed through the decades. His friend Horatio had never cared about music. He had confided in Archie once that he thought he couldn't really hear melodies the way other people did. Archie thought it was really sad.

William served a stew for supper. It had chicken, rice and vegetables in a red sauce, and tasted delicious. It was served with some kind of black drink, that would have looked like coffee if it hadn't bubbled like witches' brew. Archie didn't fancy trying it, so he drank water. He had almost forgotten what fresh water tasted like.

After supper, William and Doc went home, and Henry was on watch for the night. Archie and Henry played a game of cards when a strange whistling started emanating from Henry's pocket, and he pulled up what looked like a little book that he held up to his ear and started talking to. It's rude to listen to private conversations, so Archie excused himself and went out on the balcony for a bit.

Future London was pretty, in its own way. The smells and sounds were really different from what he was used to experiencing in a city. Instead of people shouting and horses neighing, there was the rumbling from the cars, as he's learned they were called. Sometimes, there was a wailing noise called a siren, which meant that trouble was afoot. To Archie, who'd spent almost a decade at sea, the word "siren" referred to a mythological creature who tried to lure its prey in by singing irrisistable songs to it. If that was what they sang like, they probably went hungry a lot. He thought about the fact that he had descendants living out there, somewhere; People he had never met, but who would have disappeared from the world if he had died in Jamaica. At least that's what he supposed would have happened.

Henry came out on the balcony. "I have to go out for a while," he said. "There's been some trouble, and I need to see what I can do about it. Would you mind staying with the boy while I'm out, just in case he wakes up?"

"I suppose I can manage that," Archie replied. He had guarded imprisoned rebels before, so he was pretty sure one unconscious youngster wouldn't be a problem.

Henry led him into one of the rooms in the sick-bay. It was fairly dark, just like the nearby one Archie had woken up in. The guy in the bed looked a bit worse for wear, to be honest. His skin was sickly pale, and the expression on his face was not really peaceful.

"He doesn't have anything contageous, does he?" Archie asked, motioning towards the patient's bald head. "They've shaved his hair off, like they do to people who have infectious diseases."

"No," Henry replied. "He's been shot, too. There was a lot of damage done. Even with the special equipement we have here, Doc had a bit of trouble putting him back together again. She said that fixing _you_ up, was easy in comparison. He's been bald since childhood, when he had the scarlet fever. I'm not the doctor here, but from what I've heard, in really bad cases the hair can fall off. Sometimes it just never grows back out again."

"Who is he?" Archie inquired. "Where is he from?"

"His name's Isaac McSwain," Henry answered. "He goes by "Ike," to people who know him. 19 or 20 years old. I picked him up in Nebraska - a territory in America - some 60 years after your time. The details of his life are a bit muddled. What I do know, is that he can't speak. He's mute, from a terrible shock he experienced when he was a little boy. Just keep that in mind, if he does wake up tonight. He'll probably go back to sleep soon enough, though. Doc's drugged him up pretty good."

Archie looked down at the sleeping boy, and felt a wave of sympathy stir up. It didn't sound like he'd had an easy life. Neither had Archie, for that matter. He'd been suffering from "fits" all through his childhood, and his father had thought that some fresh sea air would do him good. As the son of a lord, Archie was expected to make something of himself, and with two older brothers, there wasn't much land for him to inherit. His Majesty's Navy became his new home when he was 14. The first ship he served on was the HMS _Justinian._ It was a large 74-gun ship of the line, which had seen better days. For most of his first three years onboard, they'd been laying anchored up at Spithead, waiting for something to take them into action. Archie made friends fairly easily, because of his sociable demeanour, so it wouldn't have been so bad, if it just hadn't been for Simpson.

Archie shuddered at the thought of the sadistic Midshipman Jack Simpson, who had been everyone's enemy. He'd been at the receiving end of Simpson's beatings and riducule a few times more than he cared to remember. But Simpson was dead. Captain Pellew, of the HMS _Indefatigable,_ had shot him for trying to kill Horatio, after Horatio had spared his life in a duel. Archie hadn't been there when it happened, because he'd been in a Spanish prison. That was also thanks to Simpson, who'd cut him adrift after he'd been knocked unconscious in a battle. He'd been picked up by a Spanish ship, and instead of being executed, he'd spent a little over a year in El Ferrol. Eventually, fate's mysterious ways had landed the rest of his old division in the same prison, and Horatio had eventually negiciated to get them all released by being honourable. At the time, Archie had been bitter and jealous towards Horatio, who always managed to land on his feet, like he was some sort of cat.

"I'll be off then," said Henry, stirring him out of his memory trip. "If you want a book to read, there's a study next to the living room, where you'll find some Shakespeare and Dickens, and stuff. I'll be back in no more than an hour, I hope."

Archie selected a book titled _Dracula_. He'd heard some of the sailors talk about something called a Dracula, which they were deathly afraid of, so he'd like to find out what it actually was. Starting to read, he got the impression that it was a rather dry log detailing a journey through eastern Europe. It was the kind of book Horatio would probably have liked. Archie preferred drama and flair. He'd had a few fiery discussions with Horatio, about the works of Shakespeare. Horatio thought that Shakespeare always went over the top with the tragedy. It wasn't necessary to kill _everyone_ , he argued. Archie disagreed. He admired Mr. Shakespeare's ruthless dispatching of characters. It was gutsy for a writer to kill the hero, rather than letting him have his expected happily-ever-after. Horatio agreed with that, he just didn't think it had to happen _every_ time.

Archie had gotten to the part in the book where Jonathan Harker arrived at the hotel, when he noticed that Ike had started moving a bit. He put the book on the side table, and went over to check on the boy. Ike wasn't fully awake yet. His eyes were still closed, but he was scratching at his arm, trying to pull out the needle that had been inserted into one of his veins.

"Don't do that," Archie said calmly, moving the boy's hand to the side. "That thing in your arm is supposed to be there. They're trying to give you medicine. You're in a hospital."

Ike let out a long, shivering breath, weakly attempting to pull his hand out of Archie's grip. Archie let go, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"It's alright," he said quietly. "I know you cannot speak with your voice, so don't strain yourself. You're safe now. Your friends are safe."

He didn't know why he added that last part, he just had a feeling that Ike needed to hear it. It seemed to work, because the boy stopped fidgeting, and appeared to drift back into his drug-induced sleep. Why did he think of Ike as a boy, Archie wondered. He was a young man, no more than three - or maybe four - years younger than himself. Judging by the size of his hands, and by how long his legs seemed to be, Ike was also a bit larger than him. Archie wasn't really a big chap, but he was strong for his size. Being a huge bear of a man wasn't always an advantage on board a ship, where you had to climb in the rigging, and gravity was generally against you.

Archie picked the book back up, and read a few more pages. He was beginning to wonder if Jonathan Harker was stupid or something. When people start crossing themselves at the mention of the person you're about to go visit in a remote castle, then it's probably not a good idea to go and visit them.


End file.
